I’ve seen too many women crucify themselves for the wrongs others have dealt them.


With a cross made of bed posts or dark intersections, they are nailed to their pasts, suffering from the sins of others.


And you have the audacity to call yourself a savior.


You have the audacity to pride yourself in defeating your past. When your fight brought so much collateral damage.


She was 15 when he offered a job, in film none the less, “Oh Mama!” she said, “I’m going to be in movies!”


And she was. Believe it or not, she was actually a great actress, but that’s not why he hired her.


Her youthful optimism was hung as an example when he pinned her to a bed with the rusty nails of abuse his father gave him.


Too many women have been crucified for wrongs that were not their own.


No one believed her. She shouted but her cries were inaudible. Drowned out by the “what were you wearing”s and “You should have know better”s.


She was fired and would forever see the film industry as a field of broken glass shards that give off a beautiful shine when the light hits them.


She was fired because she refused to have her palms cut open again by an ancient nail. She didn’t want tetanus in her soul. She was under the impression-


That an open arms welcome to show business, didn’t translate into “open your legs, you whore.”

She didn’t realize


That kindness was weakness. That “no”s tend to be ignored. That a 55 year old man can still have the brain of a broken 6 year old craving any intimacy he could find.


But let me remind you that you don’t have to lay on a bed of nails for the damage they’ve inflicted. You are the victim. You are the savior. A part of you died for another’s sin, but it was never your choice. It was a fate decided by someone or something you can’t control. It was a fate decided by someone else. And this decision never did you any goddamned good.


But like the Messiah you can rise again, but it may take 3 days, or 3 weeks, 3 months, 3 years, 3 decades. But you will rise up. You have to rise up. And you will be stronger. And you can find your light. And you can spread it to those that can’t find anything but darkness. And you can help others fight to resurrect themselves because sometimes we need a little help. And you can heal. And you can trust. And you can live on. And you can love as strong as anyone else can. But you won’t forget what you’ve been through because sometimes the most important part of living in your newfound iridescent glow is looking back at the darkness to see how far you’ve come


I know, because I have scars too. Small, round, indentations in the center of my palms from two rusty nails of someone else’s sin.

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


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